...OF KHALSA AND SAMURAI

OF KHALSA AND SAMURAI

A few weeks ago, we visited the San Francisco Bay Area, courtesy of one of my husband's nephews. I was the first time I have been to San Francisco, Mani's favourite American city, since the events of 1984. Such memories, it brought back! I can't really share these with anyone here, so I'm sharing them with you, my online friends.

San Francisco

One year, I think it was 1978, but I'm not sure, we decided to celebrate our anniversary/my birthday by taking a holiday in San Francisco. Very unusual for us, we decided to leave Sandeep in the safe hands of the family and set off for nine days and eight nights in The City By The Bay. Family had our hotel number, of course, along with a promise not to phone unless it was a life-altering emergency. No such emergency occurred and we had a wonderful time. OK, I'll fess up. We called home each evening to say hi to our Sikhling.

One of the few things Mani and I could never agree about was our manner of dress. His appearance was very important to him. His clothes were always perfect, his turban beautifully tied, shoes, when he wore them, perfectly shined. He even ironed his jeans! (I refused to do that because I thought it was stupid.) I, on the other hand, insisted only that my clothes be neat and clean and cover me decently. And be comfortable. They must be comfortable. Beyond that, I really didn't much care what I looked like. We did agree on a few important points. No high heels, no dresses, no make-up.


On the farm, my appearance didn't matter all that much. He expected me to be a bit messed up, mucking around with the cows and goats and chickens (kept for fertiliser) and also with our various crops. I usually indulged him in the evenings by showering or lounging in the Jacuzzi for a while and then putting on a Punjabi suit, a salwar kameez. He usually lounged around evenings in kurta pajama. We might not have been a Punjabi couple, but except for his grey eyes and my brown hair and pasty skin, we certainly looked like one.

For our trip to San Francisco, we reached a compromise. During the day, while we were walking, hiking, goofing off, I would wear jeans - ironed by him! - and something colourful and attractive on my top. This was necessary because walking shoes look really stupid with dressy clothes. When we went out in the evenings, I would dress to the nines, looking every inch the proper lady, while he also dressed up - in full bana! He looked really cool in bana - what Sikh doesn't? - and he looked somehow silly in a suit.

Sardar Sarbjeet Singh Ji

 

We quickly found out that many fine San Francisco restaurants had a dress code that men had to wear jacket and tie. We avoided those. As Mani said, "They probably don't have decent vegetarian food anyway. We had a glorious time, walking from the Embarcadero to the Pacific Ocean - one side of San Francisco to the other, rambling through Golden Gate Park, exploring those strange, little neighbourhood shops that San Francisco seems to be full of. We spent a whole day at Fisherman's Wharf, watching the tourists shiver. Most people don't realise that San Francisco is quite cool most of the time, and so dress inappropriately for the weather. We also went hiking in the Muir Woods amidst the giant redwoods and hiking up Mt. Tamalpais across the Golden Gate Bridge in Marin County.


I really want to write about one particular afternoon and evening. We decided to go see a Toshiro Mifune movie playing in a theatre in Japan Town.

Toshiro Mifune

Japan Town, San Francisco

Mani gave me those cow eyes and asked me to dress up, even though it was only afternoon. I said it was too early, if I had to dress up I'd wear bana, too. He grinned at me and agreed. We ended up dressed exactly alike except he had a saffron turban, while I used a chunni. (We should have tied a turban on me, I now realise, but for some reason, we didn't think of it.) And, unlike him, I carried the more usual short kirpan. I admit we made a grand-looking couple, him in a dark blue chola, saffron-coloured gatra containing a full-length kirpan, and, of course, his perfectly tied turban, me similarly clad. Him tall and towering and masculine, the perfect Khalsa warrior, me short and slender, yet with the full figure of a fertility goddess, also the perfect Khalsa warrior, except in a battle, I'd have to ditch the chunni. As he said, "We look goooooood!"

We arrived for the afternoon matinee and, much to our surprise, there were only a very few others attending. I guess weekday afternoons don't bring out the samurai crowd. A very lovely Japanese lady, clad in traditional kimono, not only sold us tickets, but also tended the refreshments counter and acted less like an usher than like a hostess. When we first came in, she looked at Mani shyly, but still with open curiosity and perhaps a bit of apprehension. She was even shorter than I am; he must have seemed a giant to her. "Sir, "she asked in a heavily accented voice, with that high, squeaky voice that Japanese women traditionally affect, "may I ask you a question?" She waited for him to answer, which he did in the affirmative.

Our lady was really quite a few years older

I just knew she was going to ask if he were an Arab, but she surprised me. "I see you have a katana, a sword. Are you some sort of a samurai among your people?"  In spite of the accent, her English was excellent.



We were both startled at that question; I was very curious how he would answer. "We are Sikhs who have been initiated into the Khalsa Knighthood, so I suppose you could consider us a sort of samurai." He went on to explain a bit about Sikhi, which she had never heard of. When he finished, she was grinning broadly, obviously happily impressed.
Then she turned to me and said, "Great lady, you are also this Khalsa?"

Great lady! I could live with that. I smiled at her and replied, 

"Yes."

Her smile faded briefly as she asked, "Then why do you have such a small sword?" I didn't really have a good answer, so, on the spur of the moment, I came up with the explanation that I was so short that it would drag the ground., Actually, that is close to the truth. The answer seemed to satisfy her and her smile returned. She also wanted to see them both unsheathed; we were happy to oblige.

Shastars

She was obviously impressed and asked if there was anything she could do to make us comfortable. She clearly wanted to do something, so one of us suggested that some Japanese tea would be nice. I mentioned that we were visiting San Francisco to celebrate our wedding anniversary as well as my birthday. She brightened up immediately. "Then you must have long noodles for long life to celebrate." He explained that we were vegetarians and ate only "Buddhist food." (We had learned that was the easiest way to get correct food in what used to be called Oriental restaurants.)

"No meat. No egg. Tofu is OK?" She asked."

A bit taken aback, we agreed.
"I be right back. You go sit down, enjoy watching the people stab each other." She disappeared into a back room and we went into the theatre and watched "the people stab each other."

After a time, she returned with a large tray of not only with tea and noodles (in miso soup), but also a sumptuous feast of vegetarian sushi, inari sushi, norimaki with vegetable and tofu filling, and small mounds of vinegared rice with various thinly sliced vegetables on top where normally there would be raw fish. And lots of wasabi, ginger and shoyu.

Vegetarian sushi

We were both overwhelmed. She ignored our reaction and arranged one tray on the seat to Mani's left and another to my right, dividing the food between us. "Now eat and enjoy while you watch movie." She smiled, bowed and walked away. What could we do? We ate and enjoyed and watched the movie. And wondered what was going on. After the movie, we found out, while eating some vegetable tempura that she brought in.


"I am Shinto," she told us. "I worship Amaterasu-no-Kami, the Sun Goddess, our foremother.

Amaterasu-no-Kami

"Last night, she sent me a dream that I would meet some great warriors, not Japanese, but worthy to be samurai. I saw you and knew she had blessed me with your holy presence, so I could have the honour of serving you. I am descended from a very old samurai family that was impoverished when the samurai class was outlawed. They took all our swords and melted them down. You know, all our women were also taught martial arts and sword fighting, so we could protect our homes and our honour, if need be. Without our swords, what could we be?"

Samurai swords

She was clearly speaking from deep in her heart, speaking as if these things happened recently, instead of in the previous century. I wanted to see your kirpans" - she stumbled over the word - "so I could honour my ancestors." We didn't quite understand that last statement and didn't ask. Somehow asking seemed cold. "There is one more thing, please." She pulled out a small book wrapped in a silk cloth and handed it to me. (Why not him? I do not know.) This is the Bushido Book, The Code of the Warrior. I think you do not know Japanese, but please accept it as my gift." We were quite overwhelmed. The book was obviously quite old, probably a family heirloom. Still, it was unthinkable to refuse it. We took it and kept it always among our few treasured possessions.

A commercial edition of the book she gave us

A most important note: As usual most of these pictures are roached from the Internet, compliments of Google Search. Two are not. That strange-looking being on the Golden Gate Bridge is me, as a giant Nihang. Why not?

That very handsome Sardar Ji I have used to illustrate bana is the father of my little sister Kamal Kaur. His name is Sarbjeet Singh Ji and he, like my own Dad, is a Canadian from Punjabi. Notice the twinkle in his eyes and that lovely smile.

Sarbjeet Singh Ji

My medical caretaker,Irene pointed out to me that if he is my sister's father, then he must also be my Dad. An interesting idea, as I believe he is somewhat younger than my 57 years! My thanks to these two for letting me use this picture. 


One further note about Kamal Ji. You might have noticed her listed as an author, although she has never contributed a post. This is for a very special reason. For some time, she has been downloading and saving each post's html on her computer. Anything can happen on the Internet. This site could be hacked, Blogger could decide to delete it for some reason, new laws in America might restrict the freedom of speech and/or the press. If this blog should, for any reason disappear from the blogosphere, dear Kamal Ji will have preserved it, so it will not be destroyed. Of course, I also download it to my computer, but my poor old compy isn't very reliable and if something should happen to me, it might sit forever here with no one the wiser. So she is performing a great sewa, in my opinion. This will probably embarrass her, but, little sister, I want to thank you from my heart for doing this.

 

***********************************************************************************

A few weeks ago, we visited the San Francisco Bay Area, courtesy of one of my husband's nephews. I was the first time I have been to San Francisco, Mani's favourite American city, since the events of 1984. Such memories, it brought back! I can't really share these with anyone here, so I'm sharing them with you, my online friends.

Shastars

San Francisco

One year, I think it was 1978, but I'm not sure, we decided to celebrate our anniversary/my birthday by taking a holiday in San Francisco. Very unusual for us, we decided to leave Sandeep in the safe hands of the family and set off for nine days and eight nights in The City By The Bay. Family had our hotel number, of course, along with a promise not to phone unless it was a life-altering emergency. No such emergency occurred and we had a wonderful time. OK, I'll fess up. We called home each evening to say hi to our Sikhling.

One of the few things Mani and I could never agree about was our manner of dress. His appearance was very important to him. His clothes were always perfect, his turban beautifully tied, shoes, when he wore them, perfectly shined. He even ironed his jeans! (I refused to do that because I thought it was stupid.) I, on the other hand, insisted only that my clothes be neat and clean and cover me decently. And be comfortable. They must be comfortable. Beyond that, I really didn't much care what I looked like. We did agree on a few important points. No high heels, no dresses, no make-up.


On the farm, my appearance didn't matter all that much. He expected me to be a bit messed up, mucking around with the cows and goats and chickens (kept for fertiliser) and also with our various crops. I usually indulged him in the evenings by showering or lounging in the Jacuzzi for a while and then putting on a Punjabi suit, a salwar kameez. He usually lounged around evenings in kurta pajama. We might not have been a Punjabi couple, but except for his grey eyes and my brown hair and pasty skin, we certainly looked like one.

For our trip to San Francisco, we reached a compromise. During the day, while we were walking, hiking, goofing off, I would wear jeans - ironed by him! - and something colourful and attractive on my top. This was necessary because walking shoes look really stupid with dressy clothes. When we went out in the evenings, I would dress to the nines, looking every inch the proper lady, while he also dressed up - in full bana! He looked really cool in bana - what Sikh doesn't? - and he looked somehow silly in a suit.

We quickly found out that many fine San Francisco restaurants had a dress code that men had to wear jacket and tie. We avoided those. As Mani said, "They probably don't have decent vegetarian food anyway. We had a glorious time, walking from the Embarcadero to the Pacific Ocean - one side of San Francisco to the other, rambling through Golden Gate Park, exploring those strange, little neighbourhood shops that San Francisco seems to be full of. We spent a whole day at Fisherman's Wharf, watching the tourists shiver. Most people don't realise that San Francisco is quite cool most of the time, and so dress inappropriately for the weather. We also went hiking in the Muir Woods amidst the giant redwoods and hiking up Mt. Tamalpais across the Golden Gate Bridge in Marin County.


I really want to write about one particular afternoon and evening. We decided to go see a Toshiro Mifune movie playing in a theatre in Japan Town.

Toshiro Mifune

Japan Town, San Francisco

Mani gave me those cow eyes and asked me to dress up, even though it was only afternoon. I said it was too early, if I had to dress up I'd wear bana, too. He grinned at me and agreed. We ended up dressed exactly alike except he had a saffron turban, while I used a chunni. (We should have tied a turban on me, I now realise, but for some reason, we didn't think of it.) And, unlike him, I carried the more usual short kirpan. I admit we made a grand-looking couple, him in a dark blue chola, saffron-coloured gatra containing a full-length kirpan, and, of course, his perfectly tied turban, me similarly clad. Him tall and towering and masculine, the perfect Khalsa warrior, me short and slender, yet with the full figure of a fertility goddess, also the perfect Khalsa warrior, except in a battle, I'd have to ditch the chunni. As he said, "We look goooooood!"

We arrived for the afternoon matinee and, much to our surprise, there were only a very few others attending. I guess weekday afternoons don't bring out the samurai crowd. A very lovely Japanese lady, clad in traditional kimono, not only sold us tickets, but also tended the refreshments counter and acted less like an usher than like a hostess. When we first came in, she looked at Mani shyly, but still with open curiosity and perhaps a bit of apprehension. She was even shorter than I am; he must have seemed a giant to her. "Sir, "she asked in a heavily accented voice, with that high, squeaky voice that Japanese women traditionally affect, "may I ask you a question?" She waited for him to answer, which he did in the affirmative.

Our lady was really quite a few years older

I just knew she was going to ask if he were an Arab, but she surprised me. "I see you have a katana, a sword. Are you some sort of a samurai among your people?"  In spite of the accent, her English was excellent.



We were both startled at that question; I was very curious how he would answer. "We are Sikhs who have been initiated into the Khalsa Knighthood, so I suppose you could consider us a sort of samurai." He went on to explain a bit about Sikhi, which she had never heard of. When he finished, she was grinning broadly, obviously happily impressed.
Then she turned to me and said, "Great lady, you are also this Khalsa?"

Great lady! I could live with that. I smiled at her and replied, 

"Yes."

Her smile faded briefly as she asked, "Then why do you have such a small sword?" I didn't really have a good answer, so, on the spur of the moment, I came up with the explanation that I was so short that it would drag the ground., Actually, that is close to the truth. The answer seemed to satisfy her and her smile returned. She also wanted to see them both unsheathed; we were happy to oblige.

She was obviously impressed and asked if there was anything she could do to make us comfortable. She clearly wanted to do something, so one of us suggested that some Japanese tea would be nice. I mentioned that we were visiting San Francisco to celebrate our wedding anniversary as well as my birthday. She brightened up immediately. "Then you must have long noodles for long life to celebrate." He explained that we were vegetarians and ate only "Buddhist food." (We had learned that was the easiest way to get correct food in what used to be called Oriental restaurants.)


"No meat. No egg. Tofu is OK?" She asked.

"A bit taken aback, we agreed.

"I be right back. You go sit down, enjoy watching the people stab each other." She disappeared into a back room and we went into the theatre and watched "the people stab each other."

After a time, she returned with a large tray of not only with tea and noodles (in miso soup), but also a sumptuous feast of vegetarian sushi, inari sushi, norimaki with vegetable and tofu filling, and small mounds of vinegared rice with various thinly sliced vegetables on top where normally there would be raw fish. And lots of wasabi, ginger and shoyu.

Vegetarian sushi

We were both overwhelmed. She ignored our reaction and arranged one tray on the seat to Mani's left and another to my right, dividing the food between us. "Now eat and enjoy while you watch movie." She smiled, bowed and walked away. What could we do? We ate and enjoyed and watched the movie. And wondered what was going on. After the movie, we found out, while eating some vegetable tempura that she brought in.


"I am Shinto," she told us. "I worship Amaterasu-no-Kami, the Sun Goddess, our foremother.

Amaterasu-no-Kami

"Last night, she sent me a dream that I would meet some great warriors, not Japanese, but worthy to be samurai. I saw you and knew she had blessed me with your holy presence, so I could have the honour of serving you. I am descended from a very old samurai family that was impoverished when the samurai class was outlawed. They took all our swords and melted them down. You know, all our women were also taught martial arts and sword fighting, so we could protect our homes and our honour, if need be. Without our swords, what could we be?"

Samurai swords

She was clearly speaking from deep in her heart, speaking as if these things happened recently, instead of in the previous century. I wanted to see your kirpans" - she stumbled over the word - "so I could honour my ancestors." We didn't quite understand that last statement and didn't ask. Somehow asking seemed cold. "There is one more thing, please." She pulled out a small book wrapped in a silk cloth and handed it to me. (Why not him? I do not know.) This is the Bushido Book, The Code of the Warrior. I think you do not know Japanese, but please accept it as my gift." We were quite overwhelmed. The book was obviously quite old, probably a family heirloom. Still, it was unthinkable to refuse it. We took it and kept it always among our few treasured possessions.

A commercial edition of the book she gave us

A most important note: As usual most of these pictures are roached from the Internet, compliments of Google Search. Two are not. That strange-looking being on the Golden Gate Bridge is me, as a giant Nihang. Why not?

That very handsome Sardar Ji I have used to illustrate bana is the father of my little sister Kamal Kaur. His name is Sarbjeet Singh Ji and he, like my own Dad, is a Canadian from Punjabi. Notice the twinkle in his eyes and that lovely smile.

Sarbjeet Singh Ji

My medical caretaker,Irene pointed out to me that if he is my sister's father, then he must also be my Dad. An interesting idea, as I believe he is somewhat younger than my 57 years! My thanks to these two for letting me use this picture. 


One further note about Kamal Ji. You might have noticed her listed as an author, although she has never contributed a post. This is for a very special reason. For some time, she has been downloading and saving each post's html on her computer. Anything can happen on the Internet. This site could be hacked, Blogger could decide to delete it for some reason, new laws in America might restrict the freedom of speech and/or the press. If this blog should, for any reason disappear from the blogosphere, dear Kamal Ji will have preserved it, so it will not be destroyed. Of course, I also download it to my computer, but my poor old compy isn't very reliable and if something should happen to me, it might sit forever here with no one the wiser. So she is performing a great sewa, in my opinion. This will probably embarrass her, but, little sister, I want to thank you from my heart for doing this.

Joyfully, As A Hero To The Victory!

That line is from a poem by Friedrich Schiller, The Ode To Joy. In part, it says:

Happy, as God's suns fly through the heavens' mighty plan

Brothers, run your race, joyfully as a hero to the victory.

Sounds pretty chardi kala to me, eh? So be a hero.

First, watch the video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_OHpi3euro&feature=player_embedded

We Sikhs have always, from the very first, been known as people who never give up, who give everything in winning the victory. Now we have taken on our most powerful opponent ever, the most powerful organisation in the world, the United States Military. Unlike in many other countries, in the USA, our Singhs - and Kaurs - are not allowed to keep kesh and tie turbans. You are already aware of the struggle of these two young Singhs who signed up in good faith, being reassured that kesh and turban would not be a problem. They were lied to! Now ordered to report for active duty this summer, they have also been ordered to ditch the kesh and turban.

This must be fought. It will be fought! Can we win? Of course, we can win. The question is, do we have the will to win? Will we actually do it?

I want to make a very personal statement here. As most of you know, my family was murdered in the Delhi Pogrom of 1984. That year, from before the Bluestar Massacre to the mass murders in November and beyond, was one of the most traumatic in Sikh history. The Panth has been badly hurt, even temporarily broken, perhaps. But the broken can be mended and become even stronger than before. My generation has been fighting this for 25 years - longer than many of you have even been alive. We will continue to fight, to demand justice!

It is time for you younger Sikhs to pick up your part of the struggle. The fight to convince the US Military to grant us our religious rights is, as the Sikh Coalition says, this is the case of your generation- not just in America but in the world. The disaster of the last eight years has shown us that, as this powerful country goes, so goes the world. I ask you to not only sign the petition - you've all done that already, right? If you haven't please do so below - but also please scrape together whatever you can and then a little more and send it to The Sikh Coalition. It is a sad fact that everything costs money these days. I cannot think of a better, bigger, more historic Sikh cause to send your money to these days. I know the suggested amounts are beyond the means of many readers. That's OK. Send what you can. If 5 people send $5 each, that's a $25 donation. You are a part of our great and beautiful history. Remember the sacrifices of our sant-sipahis, our shaheeds through history - including family members of many readers here - and honour them by doing your part for this victory. DONATE NOW!

And there is more to do! Please visit the Sikh Coalition Army Action Page for more ideas. Do what you can. Do it in honour of our shaheeds. Do it in honour of my husband, Shaheed Mani Singh and my son, Shaheed Sandeep Singh, as well as my two little unborn daughters, my precious little Kaurs. Do it because it's the right thing to do. Do it because you're a Sikh! (Or do it because you believe in this cause, even if you're not a Sikh!) Whatever your reason, do it!

From THE SIKH COALITION:

This Vaisakhi, let's honor and protect our faith.

Support the Army Campaign. Support our Work Today.

Contribute $100 or more to receive a commemorative "Sikh Right to Serve" T-shirt

It is with great joy that Sikhs remember Vaisakhi Day. We feel joy when we think of our Guru. We feel strength when we think of our Panj Piare.

We feel unspeakable of respect when we think of the Sikhs before us who sacrificed their lives for justice, but never gave up their faith.

Just think about it. Everyone reading this message is the inheritor of the sacrifice, strength, and love of the Sikhs before them.

So what is your place in Sikh history? (Emphasis mine. Mai)

On Vaisakhi Day 2009, 2 young Sikhs challenged the U.S. Army's policy of excluding Sikhs from service.

Today, like the Sikhs before us, can you help secure our future by financially supporting this campaign? Contribute securely online here:
https://secure.groundspring.org/dn/index.php?aid=2563

Let's not mince words. This is the case of our generation in America. We are taking on the world's most powerful institution. If we are victorious, literally a whole class of cases of anti-Sikh discrimination will disappear.

Please help our generation of Sikhs make history by donating $25, $50, $100, $250, $500, $1000 today:
https://secure.groundspring.org/dn/index.php?aid=2563

As a token of appreciation for your support, all donors who give $100 or more will receive a commemorative campaign T-shirt. We hope this T-shirt will serve as a reminder to you and your friends of your support at this critical juncture in Sikh history.

As Sikhs, we know from our history that there is no challenge we can not overcome.

We will not defer this fight to the next generation. With your support, we will win this fight in our generation.

Waheguru Ji Ka Khalsa, Waheguru Ji Ki Fateh!
The Sikh Coalition Board and Staff

SIGN THE PETITION!

In Gratitude To jagdish tytler

Why is jagdish tytler apologising? What does he have to apologise about? After all, he - in his own words-

"actually abused the governor as he was enjoying his drink while the carnage was on."

Let us rather express our gratitude at all he and those of his ilk have done for us.



They gave our husbands, sons, fathers, brothers, and sometimes, our wives, mothers and, daughters, as well as our good friends, the opportunity to achieve shaheedi in righteous battle.




They gave our women - our mothers, sisters, daughters and friends - the opportunity to overcome the effects - emotional and physical - of being beaten and gang-raped. They even gave some of our women the opportunity to widen the gene pool by bearing children thus conceived.


They gave our widows the opportunity to show their chardi kala by raising their children with few or no possessions and no male breadwinner and without the love and comfort of a husband.



They gave our children the opportunity to show their strength and intelligence by growing up without a male role-model in the home, without stability or security. He gave our children the opportunity to learn to turn to drugs (including alcohol) in an attempt to handle these things missing in their lives.

(NO PICTURE HERE. I REFUSE TO SHOW A TURBANED SIKH SHOOTING DRUGS )

He gave our whole community the opportunity to show the world that Sikhs are strong and resilient and refuse to stop seeking justice no matter how many times we are slapped down, humiliated, laughed at and blamed.

In light of all this, perhaps he shouldn't be apologising to us; perhaps we should apologise to him for wanting to see him hanging from the business end of a rope.

APOLOGY NOT ACCEPTED

--
WHY TRY TO FIT IN? YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT!

KHALISTAN ALERT! The Taliban Threaten West Punjab

I'm sorry to break into your weekend fun, but something really big and alarming has come up.

Today on CNN, I heard a most upsetting story. It seems that the Taliban in Pakistan have not only taken over the Swat Valley and forced their nonMuslim tax, called jizya, on Sikhs there, but much more alarming, they have made inroads in West Punjab. This is very serious.

When it comes to draconian oppression, the Taliban are masters! Imagine Punjab with no music, no dance, no colourful women, no joy. We all know that Punjabi celebrations can get out of hand. Weddings, especially are way too big, way too showy, way too expensive. But -

Can you imagine being flogged for going to one?





Can you imagine having your feet cut off for dancing at one?



Can you imagine a long, torturous prison sentence for singing at one?



Or - should you be a woman - execution for even expressing a desire to go to one?



That is the dark, joyless world of the Taliban.


That is the Punjab of the Taliban.

"After it rains, there's a rainbow and all of the colours are black...

Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town..."
That's a song, but you better not sing it!



I have no idea what we can do about this, but I know it must be stopped. We are the chardi kala people, remember? We cannot allow this land to be turned into a no-laugh zone. The first step is to be aware. This is from today's New York Times:

MILITANTS THREATEN PAKISTAN'S POPULOUS HEART

April 14, 2009

By SABRINA TAVERNISE, RICHARD A. OPPEL Jr. and ERIC SCHMITT

This article was reported by Sabrina Tavernise, Richard A. Oppel Jr. and Eric Schmitt and written by Ms. Tavernise.

DERA GHAZI KHAN, Pakistan — Taliban insurgents are teaming up with local militant groups to make inroads in Punjab, the province that is home to more than half of Pakistanis, reinvigorating an alliance that Pakistani and American authorities say poses a serious risk to the stability of the country.

The deadly assault in March in Lahore, Punjab's capital, against the Sri Lankan cricket team, and the bombing last fall of the Marriott Hotel in Islamabad, the national capital, were only the most spectacular examples of the joint campaign, they said.

Now police officials, local residents and analysts warn that if the government does not take decisive action, these dusty, impoverished fringes of Punjab could be the next areas facing the insurgency. American intelligence and counterterrorism officials also said they viewed the developments with alarm.

"I don't think a lot of people understand the gravity of the issue," said a senior police official in Punjab, who declined to be idenfitied because he was discussing threats to the state. "If you want to destabilize Pakistan, you have to destabilize Punjab."

As American drone attacks disrupt strongholds of the Taliban and Al Qaeda in the tribal areas, the insurgents are striking deeper into Pakistan — both in retaliation and in search of new havens.

Telltale signs of creeping militancy abound in a belt of towns and villages near here that a reporter visited last week. Militants have gained strength considerably in the district of Dera Ghazi Khan, which is a gateway both to Taliban-controlled areas and the heart of Punjab, the police and local residents say. Many were terrified.

Some villages, just north of here, are so deeply infiltrated by militants that they are already considered no-go zones by their neighbors.

In at least five towns in southern and western Punjab, including the midsize hub of Multan, barber shops, music stores and Internet cafes offensive to the militants' strict interpretation of Islam have received threats. Traditional ceremonies that include drumming and dancing have been halted in some areas. Hard-line ideologues have addressed large crowds to push their idea of Islamic revolution. Sectarian attacks, dormant here since the 1990s, have erupted once again.

To read the rest, please go here: Taliban In Punjab

When A Big Tree Fell

I first read this article in the blog Seriously Sandeep, after being referred to it by Amrit Hallon's Writing Cave. I thank Sandeep Ji for reprinting this article. However, I must take issue with one of his statements:

only 4000+ Sikhs died.

Only 4000+ Sikhs died. ONLY 4000+ Sikhs died. ONLY 4000+ SIKHS DIED. I will not here dispute the 4000+ figure - although I think the "+" is very pluss indeed. I dispute that "only." It is not "only" if the dead are your family, the people you love. I'm sure he didn't realise how cold that "only" is to those of us who survived.

He further writes, "Read it and weep." I write, Read it and remember.

Please read all of this article. It is difficult reading, grueling, and it is necessary for all of us - Sikhs or not - to know this informastion. For those of us who are Sikhs, it is vital.

When a big tree fell

Kanchan Gupta

Manmohan Singh and Congress suffer from selective amnesia as they rake up the 2002 Gujarat violence to malign the BJP. But even if they choose to forget the 1984 pogrom that left more than 4,000 Sikhs dead, the story remains fresh in the minds of many, among them survivors waiting for justice for 25 years

Caught on the wrong foot over the brazen manner in which it tried to absolve Jagdish Tytler and Sajjan Kumar of the serious charges that have been levelled against them by survivors of the 1984 pogrom that resulted in the slaughter of 4, 733 Sikhs, the Congress has struck back at its principal political adversary, the BJP, by once again raising the bogey of the 2002 post-Godhra violence in Gujarat.

Addressing a Press conference in Mumbai on Monday, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, who would like people to believe that he was "not informed, not consulted, over the CBI's clean chit to Jagdish Tytler" although that is an impossibility, has said, "Nor will I be found wringing my hands in frustration while one of my Chief Ministers condones a pogrom targeted at minorities."

Ironically, even as the Prime Minister was seeking to resurrect the Gujarat 'pogrom' and remind people of the 'atrocities' committed against Muslims, the Special Investigation Team set up by the Supreme Court and headed by former CBI director RK Raghavan submitted its report, refuting the allegations that have sustained the myth-making aimed at demonising Mr Narendra Modi and tarring the BJP's image.

The SIT's report shows Mr Singh's description of the Gujarat violence as a "pogrom targeted at minorities" is as fanciful as his denial of any knowledge about the CBI exonerating those who are accused of leading murderous mobs during the 1984 violence, planned and executed by Congress 'leaders' to avenge the assassination of Mrs Indira Gandhi. Noted writer and veteran journalist Khushwant Singh, recalling those terrible days of 1984, told the Nanavati Commission of Inquiry, set up by the BJP-led NDA Government, that the hideous bloodletting left him "feeling like a Jew in Nazi Germany".

It is possible that Mr Manmohan Singh has no memories of that massacre; selective amnesia is a disease from which too-clever-by-half politicians tend to suffer. It is also possible that he and his patrons in the Congress believe that by pretending nothing of note happened in 1984, those born after Congress mobs ran amok on the streets of Delhi, garlanding Sikhs with burning tyres, can be persuaded to vote for a party which claims to stand against the BJP's 'divisive politics'.

Such sanctimonious self-righteousness is best avoided by the Congress, not least because its then president — and India's Prime Minister — Rajiv Gandhi had no qualms about justifying the carnage. "Some riots took place in the country following the murder of Indiraji," Rajiv Gandhi said on November 19, 1984, even as thousands of families grieved for their loved ones killed by Congress hoodlums, "We know the people were very angry and for a few days it seemed India had been shaken. But when a mighty tree falls, it is only natural that the earth around it does shake a little." Some riots? Only natural? Shake a little?

Of course, Mr Singh would claim no knowledge of any of this. Perhaps he would even insist that he was "not informed, not consulted" by Rajiv Gandhi, or, for that matter, the mobs that bayed for blood (and feasted on it) for four days before someone called the Army in.

Twenty-five years is a long time. Public memory is notoriously short and it is unlikely those who have attained the right to vote in these 25 years would know what the protest against the Congress deciding to give party tickets to Jagdish Tytler and Sajjan Kumar is all about. It would, therefore, be in order to recall the chain of events lest we be persuaded to believe that nothing of consequence happened by a Prime Minister who spends sleepless nights worrying about a terror suspect held in distant Australia but blithely disowns responsibility for the shocking attempt to whitewash the crimes of his party and its 'leaders' committed against thousands at home.

So, here is the story, briefly told, of how more than 4,000 Sikh men, women and children were slaughtered; in Delhi alone, 2,733 Sikhs were burned alive, butchered or beaten to death. Women were raped while their terrified families pleaded for mercy, little or none of which was shown by the Congress goons. In one of the numerous such incidents, a woman was gang-raped in front of her 17-year-old son; before leaving, the marauders torched the boy.

For three days and four nights the killing and pillaging continued without the police, the civil administration and the Union Government, which was then in direct charge of Delhi, lifting a finger in admonishment. The Congress was in power and could have prevented the violence, but the then Prime Minister, his Home Minister, indeed the entire Council of Ministers, twiddled their thumbs.

Even as stray dogs gorged on charred corpses and wailing women, clutching children too frightened to cry, fled mobs armed with iron rods, staves and gallons of kerosene, AIR and Doordarshan kept on broadcasting blood-curdling slogans like 'Khoon ka badla khoon se lenge' (We shall avenge blood with blood) raised by Congress workers grieving over their dear departed leader.

In mid-morning on October 31, 1984, Mrs Indira Gandhi was assassinated by two Sikh guards posted at her home. Her death was 'officially' confirmed at 6 pm, after due diligence had been exercised to ensure Rajiv Gandhi's succession. By then, reports of stray incidents of violence against Sikhs, including the stoning of President Zail Singh's car, had started trickling in at various police stations.

By the morning of November 1, hordes of men were on the rampage in south, east and west Delhi. They were armed with iron rods and carried old tyres and jerry cans filled with kerosene and petrol. Owners of petrol pumps and kerosene stores, beneficiaries of Congress largesse, provided petrol and kerosene free of cost. Some of the men went around on scooters and motorcycles, marking Sikh houses and business establishments with chalk for easy identification. They had been provided with electoral rolls to make their task easier.

By late afternoon that day, hundreds of taxis, trucks and shops owned by Sikhs had been set ablaze. By early evening, the murder, loot and rape began in right earnest. The worst butchery took place in Block 32 of Trilokpuri, a resettlement colony in east Delhi. The police either participated in the violence or merely watched from the sidelines.

Curfew was declared in south and central Delhi at 4 pm, and in east and west Delhi at 6 pm on November 1. But there was no attempt to enforce it. PV Narasimha Rao, the then Home Minister, remained unmoved by cries for help. In his affidavit to the Nanavati Commission of Inquiry, Lt-Gen Jagjit Singh Aurora, decorated hero of the 1971 India-Pakistan war, said, "The Home Minister was grossly negligent in his approach, which clearly reflected his connivance with perpetrators of the heinous crimes being committed against the Sikhs."

The first deployment of the Army took place around 6 pm on November 1 in south and central Delhi, which were comparatively unaffected, but in the absence of navigators, which should have been provided by the police and the civil authorities, the jawans found themselves lost in unfamiliar roads and avenues.

The Army was deployed in east and west Delhi in the afternoon of November 2, more than 24 hours after the killings began. But, here, too, the jawans were at a loss because there were no navigators to show them the way through byzantine lanes.

In any event, there was little the Army could have done: Magistrates were 'not available' to give permission to fire on the mobs. This mandatory requirement was kept pending till Mrs Indira Gandhi's funeral was over. By then, 1,026 Sikhs had been killed in east Delhi. Jagdish Tytler and Sajjan Kumar were among Congress 'leaders' who, witnesses said, incited and led mobs. Both deny the allegation, but the evidence is overwhelming.

A report on the pogrom, jointly prepared by the PUCL and PUDR and published under the title, Who Are the Guilty? names both of them along with others. The report quotes well-known journalist Sudip Mazumdar: "The Police Commissioner, SC Tandon was briefing the Press (about 10 Indian reporters and five foreign journalists) in his office on November 6, at 5 pm. A reporter asked him to comment on the large number of complaints about local Congress MPs and lightweights trying to pressure the police to get their men released. The Police Commissioner totally denied the allegation… Just as he finished uttering these words, Jagdish Tytler, Congress MP from Sadar constituency, barged into the Police Commissioner's office along with three other followers and on the top of his voice demanded, 'What is this Mr Tandon? You still have not done what I asked you to do?' The reporters were amused, the Police Commissioner embarrassed. Tytler kept on shouting and a reporter asked the Police Commissioner to ask that 'shouting man' to wait outside since a Press conference was on. Tytler shouted at the reporter, 'This is more important.' The reporter told the Police Commissioner that if Tytler wanted to sit in the office he would be welcome, but a lot of questions regarding his involvement would also be asked and he was welcome to hear them. Tytler was fuming…"

The slaughter was not limited to Delhi, though. Sikhs were killed in Gurgaon, Kanpur, Bokaro, Indore and many other towns and cities in States ruled by the Congress. In a replay of the mayhem in Delhi, 26 Sikh soldiers were pulled out of trains and killed.

After quenching their thirst for blood, the mobs retreated to savour their 'revenge'. The flames died and the winter air blew away the stench of death. Rajiv Gandhi's Government issued a statement placing the death toll at 425!

Demands for a judicial inquiry were stonewalled by Rajiv Gandhi. Human rights organisations petitioned the courts; the Government said courts were not empowered to order inquiries. Meanwhile, Rajiv Gandhi dissolved the Lok Sabha and went for an early election, which the Congress swept by using the 'sympathy card' and launching a vitriolic hate campaign.

Once in office, Rajiv Gandhi was desperate for a breakthrough in Punjab. He mollycoddled Akali leader Sant Harchand Singh Longowal into agreeing to sign a peace accord with him. Sant Longowal listed a set of pre-conditions; one of them was the setting up of a judicial commission to inquire into the pogrom.

Thus was born the Ranganath Misra Commission of Inquiry, which took on the job of crafting a report that would suggest extra-terrestrials were to be blamed for whatever had happened. Worse, submissions and affidavits were passed on to those accused of leading the mobs; some of these documents were later recovered from the house of Sajjan Kumar. Gag orders were issued, preventing the Press from reporting in-camera proceedings of the Commission.

For full six months, Rajiv Gandhi refused to make public the Ranganath Misra Commission's report. When it was tabled in Parliament, the report was found to be an amazing travesty of the truth; neither were the guilty men of 1984 named, now was responsibility fixed.

Subsequently, nine commissions and committees were set up to get to the truth, but they were either disbanded midway or not allowed access to documents and evidence. India had to wait for the report of the Nanavati Commission for an approximate version of the real story.

Justice Nanavati's report said, "The Commission considers it safe to record its finding that there is credible evidence against Jagdish Tytler to the effect that very probably he had a hand in organising attacks on Sikhs." This is not an indictment, Mr Manmohan Singh and his Government decided, so why bother about it? Four years later they remain unrepentant, their attitude remains unchanged.

Two thousand seven hundred and thirty-three men, women and children killed in Delhi, another 2,000 killed elsewhere, scores of women raped, property worth crores of rupees looted or sacked. Families devastated forever, survivors scarred for the rest of their lives.

But the Congress doesn't care!

The Picture: I read someone saying, "When that big tree fell, did it only fall on Sikhs?" The short answer is, "Yes." I saw a picture in that statement. I made it and here it is.

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WHY TRY TO FIT IN? YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT!

CELEBRATE VAISAKHI BY SUPPORTING SIKH IDENTITY IN THE US MILITARY!

A Sikh brother from Florida who is a Vietnam vet, Fateh Singh, has written the below letter to the worldwide sangat. He suggests that we all write to top US Government officials, starting at the top with Pres. Barack Obama. Make them see that supporting the Sikh identity in the US military will actually strengthen the country, as well as uphold the freedom of religion that is guaranteed by the Constitution.

Take a good look at the Sikh soldiers. We are an impressive-looking bunch. And the Civil War pictures show not only have beards and long hair been accepted historically in the military, but men actually look much handsomer. After writing your letters, please go to and sign the Sikh Coalition Petition.

From Fateh Singh:

Piare Khalsa Ji,

Once again the American military is trying to prohibit bearded and turbaned Sikh-Americans from serving their country in these troubled times. They say that there must be no beards and no conspicuous religious apparel worn in the military given the separation of church and state. This is not an explanation – it is an excuse. Yet, every few months there is another scandal regarding the promotion of Christianity at American military academies and at American military bases around the world. The turban is far less intrusive!

If only our political and military leaders would realize the contribution that Khalsa Sikh-Americans could make in terms of medical; legal; computer expertise, as well as a history of battlefield courage. If they did, narrow-minded policies might change!

We all have to get involved writing to our American leaders and educating them about Sikh history as well as American history. Look at what Sikhs have done as United Nations peacekeepers all over the world: from Lebanon to the Congo.

What a wonderful message our country would send to the world if and when Sikh-Americans are seen on patrol in places like Afghanistan. Moreover, seeing Sikh honor guards at the White House would make most real Americans quite proud of our commitment to diversity. Look at Canada, for example:

The world would see that America really does respect Eastern cultures and religions. One Sikh soldier in an American uniform would have a positive impact equivalent to an entire division!!!

Why no beard and long hair in the American military? It was only in the late 1800s that being clean-shaven became fashionable in America. This civilian fashion trend caught on in the military. Remember that we have had five bearded presidents and lest we forget, they were all commanders-in-chief of the American armed forces! In the American Civil War, officers and enlisted men on both sides were often bearded. Some of the greatest generals in that war had long hair and beards:

There is no evidence that facial hair or head hair ever interfered with military effectiveness!!!

Please write to:

President Barack H. Obama
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW
Washington, DC 20500

Secretary of State
Hillary Rodham Clinton
U.S. Department of State
2201 C Street
Washington, DC 20520

Dr. Robert M. Gates
Secretary of Defense
1000 Defense Pentagon
Washington, DC 20301-1000